11 Years

Dear Son:

It is so incredible to me that 11 years has passed since I first heard your voice, screaming and wailing your anger at having to enter this world. You've reached the age where you can know what you're getting and it's still fun, where Halloween is supposed to be scary instead of cute. Now more often than not I can see in your face the man you are going to become, and I love it even more than the little boy I saw yesterday. I want so much to keep you close, and young; and I know my life will be even better if I don't. My life certainly has been transformed simply by your presence.

Happy Birthday Matt. I hope I enjoy many more of them.

He's Ready

Although my son has said repeatedly that he is not ready for school, meet the teacher begins at 11 am, and he was dressed and ready to go by 8.

I love re-living childhood with my son.

Chaotic thoughts because nothing is truly random...or not.

Another Proud Parenting Moment:

Matt and I were driving around a while back, listening to the radio on a classic rock station. All of a sudden an intro came on, and as I was thinking, "I have heard that in a long time, what IS that?" Matt screamed, "WAR PIGS!" And he was right.

That's my baby...

Something I am not sure I'm comfortable with...

I was driving back to Plano from San Antonio late yesterday, and saw this sign in front of a church.

This one gave me enough stuff to think about to get me through the 20 mph traffic going on at the time. I know fast food is really bad for my body, but very tempting, but what about fast worship? Is God happy for whatever time I carve out for him, or is it more like my first reaction, than there ought to be a minimum amount of "slow down and listen for God" that provides the peace you need to get through life? I'll admit that my initial reaction was to reject that last thought, but only because I sounded so judgemental and intolerant, and I hate that.

Of course I don't have any answers, only a reaction and questions. There are certainly days where I wish my church service were just a little shorter.

He Knows Me Well

Recently Ken was looking over the upcoming Nissan 0% emissions car:

http://www.nissanusa.com/leaf-electric-car/

as we were checking it out, I commented that if they could make one that fit at least 4 kids and 2 adults, it would be the perfect car for me. I travel between 25 and 50 miles a week, all within a 5 mile radius of my home. Matt's immediate response?

"Mom, you're a hermit."

He's right.

Last photos of the Patio

Okay, the furniture is purchased, and Ken and I have finished arguing over the placement. We've got trumpet vine planted that will (hopefully) block the view of the neighbor's back yard. We LOVE it. I eat breakfast there every morning, and spend some time there every evening.

Here's the "sitting" area - the "living room." We do still need a coffee table or something.

Here's the "dining room."

And here's a view of everything, including the cozy little 2-person area.

And this - Oreo - he LOVES the grass.

Stepparenthood: Part II

My stepdaughter recently handed me a list of songs, ones that she'd like to have to play in her car. The list includes "Hotel California" by the Eagles, "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison and "Free Fallin'" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

Is it wrong that this is one of my most prideful moments as a stepparent? It is, because I know without a doubt that even if she doesn't remember it, she first heard these songs from me.

Daily Prayer

by E. E. Cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Stepparenthood: Happy Father's Day, Charlie!

I'm a step, on both ends. For most of my life, I have been raised by a stepfather, a full-time almost-Dad-but-not-my-Dad. 25 years later I became a stepmother, and have been for the past 14 years. I have never had a job that generated more guilty "what ifs" than this one. I say guilty because I have always been so very happy that my stepdaughter came into my life, and feel like she changed it for the better. But sometimes... it's just easier to imagine my life being different, that I could go on without her, than it is with my son.

This post is a day late because I've struggled with making my point without sounding bitter about my life as a stepmom. I'm not, although I do have bitter moments. I also need to mention that my mother became an instant stepmother too, and in many ways her job was way more difficult than mine or my stepdad's. But this is about one aspect of this thankless job, which applies to my Dad more than Mom: money.

My stepdad had four children when he married my mom. Two were in college, two in high school. And then he married us - three more mouths to feed, clothe, and house. He made light of it, and I want to say that he accepted that responsibility happily, but regardless of his attitude about it, he took us in and took care of us. We never wanted for anything important to us - cheerleading, music, trips, etc., and more importantly - braces, medical insurance, college - those things that even the wealthiest middle class struggle with. As he should have been thinking about his lifestyle after retirement, what he was going to do to enjoy the fruits of his long labor, he was paying for a whole new family of children. I think of this every time I see how much money from my paycheck goes to health insurance, or every time I write a check for dance class tuition. It's worth every penny-to know I have provided for my children, and to see the joy my daughter's face when she dances - these are the things that will carry me when I need to work just a few more years before I can retire the way I'd like.

My Dad, Charlie, was not my father, but he took responsibility for me anyway. And even if that were the only way he's shown his love for me, I am blessed to have him as a father. Thanks Charlie - you're a real peach of a Dad.